


Stars in the Water

by IchiBri



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Businessman Shiro, Fluff, M/M, domestic life, marimo mermaid Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 14:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13812756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchiBri/pseuds/IchiBri
Summary: Shiro's grandmother is known for sending him eccentric birthday gifts. He's recieved a few too many haunted items to be completely trusting of them. But he's pleasantly surprised to open this year's present that came with a note reading,'P.s. Talk to him enough, and he might tell you his name.'





	Stars in the Water

Shiro eyed the small present from his grandmother with a wary brow.  Like clockwork, it arrived on the last day of February every year whether it was a leap year or not.  He’d learned long ago to be cautious of her gifts, not because she had any ulterior motives but because they could be rather… eccentric.

For his 20th birthday, he had received a cursed katana–passed down in their family for generations–that was said to bring misfortune and death to its wielder.  Six years later and it now sat on display on the mantle of the living room fireplace.  He didn’t know if it brought him any more misfortune than normal, but it hadn’t killed him yet.  Or there was his 17th when she gave him an antique poison bottle, cork still capping its top.  Should he ever be accused of murder, he only hoped the police wouldn’t find the blatantly labeled poison under the kitchen sink tucked behind household cleaners.  And last year, it had been a creepy one-eyed doll that was said to be possessed by a little girl who died in a fire in the 1930s.  Shiro had yet to catch the doll doing anything other than sitting on a shelf in the corner display cabinet in his dining room, so he questioned whether it was haunted or if his grandmother simply wanted to give him a fright every time he heard a strange noise in the night.

So if Shiro was a little hesitant to see what peculiar gift was awaiting him this year, could anyone really blame him?

He started with the attached card.  His grandmother usually wrote of whatever backstory the gift had, so he could prepare himself for what it was.  But other than the usual _‘The calendar may have forgotten your birthday, but I never will’_ message, it merely said…

_P.s. Talk to him enough, and he might tell you his name._

Shiro’s eyes narrowed as they drifted to the little box and its puffy red bow.  Slowly, he reached for it and turned it over in his grasp.  He didn’t see any visible air holes, so whatever it was, he could at least rule out some creepy crawler with too many legs to count.

With a sigh, he pulled the bow from the cardboard with a sticky tear.  “You’re haunted, aren’t you?” he said aloud, before carefully prying the top open one flap at a time.

Nestled in newspaper padding sat a short, stout glass jar.  Crystal clear, the glass wasn’t aged or stained by the sun.  And as Shiro pulled it from the box, a pair of small bags jostled inside it.

He reached his fingers into the jar and pulled both bags free.  The first had a heaviness to its pale sand, or at least he hoped that was all the coarse grains were.  He turned them over in his grasp to inspect the second pouch.

A pleasant airiness had his shoulders sagging forward when he recognized the little green ball.  His grandmother had tanks and terrariums full of them when he was growing up, and he’d always swirl his fingers in the water to watch the marimo balls roll around and jump over each other in the current.

The corners of his lips quirked up as he set the little ball on the countertop.  He ripped open the sand pouch and poured its contents into the jar before running water into it.  As the sand sediment settled, Shiro gently rolled the marimo out of its pouch.

Moist and damp, it was chill to the touch.  It sat in Shiro’s palm, and with a pointer finger, he rolled it in small circles.  “Talk to you, huh?” Shiro absently said.

It wasn’t the first time a gift came with that instruction.  Every haunted object (which was about three-quarters the gifts he received) came with the same little note.  _‘Talk to it.  Maybe it’ll tell you its tale.’_  But Shiro adamantly refused to converse with the dead inhabiting the items.  Maybe a small part of him thought they’d remain silent if he left them alone to their own devices, and so far that worked for him.

But this little marimo ball–no bigger than half an inch in diameter–was completely harmless compared to a haunted doll with a chip on its shoulder.  And didn’t plants thrive on being talked to?  Shiro could’ve sworn he heard that somewhere.

“Guess I can’t call you anything till you tell me your name,” Shiro said.  Carefully, he dropped the marimo in the jar and watched it slowly sink to rest in the sand.  “So I guess you’re just gonna be Little Dude for now, and if you don’t like that, you’ll have to speak up.”  Shiro chuckled to himself, and the quiet sound echoed in the silence of his home.

That’ll be the day, he thought.  Pigs would fly before his marimo would speak, but where was the harm in talking to it as if it could?  For now though, he’d let it get settled in its new home while he called his grandmother to say thank you.

***

Shiro didn’t particularly hate his job, but on days when clients were hellish and the sales team refused feedback, he needed silence–pure, unadulterated silence.  It was a sweet bliss to unlock the front door, shrug out of his jacket, and slip off his cap toe shoes.  With a few jerks, he loosened the tie around his neck and unbuttoned his collar.  A deep, exasperated sigh breezed through his lips as he plopped down on the stool.

“Ughh,” he groaned, draping his arms and chest upon the chill countertop.  His cheek flat against the stone, he reached for the jar.  The marimo gently swayed as Shiro slid the jar closer.  “Listen to this, Little Dude,” he whined.  Moaning and groaning, he complained to his heart’s content, and the marimo listened without a single interruption.

“Haven’t they ever heard not to kill the messenger?  It’s not my fault the client isn’t satisfied.”  Shiro sighed.  He picked up his head to rest his chin on the countertop.  He stared at the tiny algae wisps that feathered with each gentle roll of water.  “So, how was your day?” he asked with a small curve of his lips.

After a moment, Shiro hummed.  “Must be pretty boring, huh?  Unless you like playing in sand, but even that must get old after a while.”

Shiro tipped his head to the side.  He could so easily convince himself the marimo was more than a stationary ball of algae.  With how the water swayed and rippled with every miniscule touch, the marimo rolled and rocked and left a trail in the sand.  Like a snail, Shiro thought, and as it passed through his mind, he chuckled.

He was reminded of how his grandmother told him marimo were alive.  He always thought she meant that in a scientific way, that algae were living things.  But he understood now.  He knew why she insisted on talking to them and playing soft melodies for them when she was away.  She gave them big tanks and decorated them with miniature furniture, elaborate castles, and eccentric knickknacks so they’d “feel at home”.

“If you want something,” Shiro started, feeling only slightly silly for what he was about to say, “you just have to speak up.”  He had a dopey grin on his face as he dipped his finger into the water to stroke the pad over the marimo’s softness.

***

Three-piece suits were barbaric in the dead of summer.  Hair matted to his forehead and pit stains chaffing his arms, Shiro’s life force dripped away with each bead of sweat he wiped from his brow.  But when he had a meeting with a high stakes client, nothing less than silver cufflinks and a pocket square was acceptable.

The moment he walked into his home, he peeled the layers off without bothering to hang the suit jacket or fold the trousers.  They landed in a sweaty heap on the floor, and Shiro was glad the dry-cleaner’s was a short walk away.  He couldn’t be bothered to make the journey at the moment, though, because the sweet ecstasy of popsicles in the freezer called to him.

Clad only in black socks and boxer briefs a shade lighter, Shiro padded to the freezer.  He retrieved a handful of the flavored ice treats, but before he could push the freezer door shut, he caught a glimpse of the marimo on the counter.

He fished an ice cube out of the box and took it, along with his popsicles, to the counter.  He sat upon the stool and laid his treats down before sliding the jar closer.

“You like it cold too, right?” Shiro said before dropping the ice cube into the water.  It crackled and fissured as it bobbed upon the water’s surface.

Shiro bit the plastic end off a popsicle before munching on the cherry-flavored ice.  Elbow planted on the countertop, his head tipped to the side as it rested against his knuckles.  He watched the ice cube float in circles and quickly melt in the lukewarm water.

With a hum, Shiro tapped the popsicle on the glass as if to gain the marimo’s attention.  He swallowed the bite of flavored ice in his mouth before saying, “Ask me nicely and I might let you spend the night in the fridge.”

***

Shiro forgot.  He woke up the next morning and trudged into the kitchen to a mess of popsicle casings and the marimo still on the counter.  “Ah, shit,” he muttered, wiping at the crust of sleep in his eye.  “Sorry, Little Dude,” he said as he collected the plastic waste.

But when his eyes swept over the jar once more, Shiro blinked.  His fingers froze in a curl around the plastic, and he shook his head.  No way, he thought as his eyes squeezed shut.  But when his lashes fluttered open, a pair of vivid eyes stared back through the glass.

The popsicle casings were flung to the floor, and the stool toppled over as Shiro scurried to hunch over the jar.  But from every angle, Shiro saw the same long flowy tail with its wisps and offshoots of algae swaying in the water.  Pale skin had thin patches of greenery marking its abdomen and shoulders.  Darker than the tail, thick strands of algae framed soft cheeks and fell in front of lucid irises the color of an angry sea.

“I’m…” Shiro rubbed at his eyes as he straightened, “…going back to bed.”  Obviously, he froze a few too many braincells with all those popsicles yesterday and needed extra sleep to recuperate.

A soft splash sounded as the marimo mermaid surfaced from the water.  He reached up and grabbed onto the lip of the jar to hoist himself higher.  “You lied.”

Shiro stumbled over his own foot.  Hunched over, he grasped the edge of the counter and slowly lifted his gaze higher.  “You talk,” he murmured with breathless awe.

“You lied,” the marimo repeated.  The line of his lips fell as he crossed his arms over the jar’s lip.

“I–” Shiro’s head dropped forward with a heavy sigh.  Slowly, he righted the stool and sat down.

Hesitantly, Shiro reached a pointer finger out to the tiny mermaid.  As his finger drew closer, the mermaid rose to meet it.  He booped his forehead against the pad of Shiro’s finger, and Shiro marveled at the smoothness of the mermaid’s skin.

But the softness beneath his touch turned to a sharp prick of teeth.  With a hissed breath, Shiro drew his hand back. “What was that for?”

“You lied,” the marimo said with an impatient flick of his tail.  “You said you’d put me in there–” he pointed at the fridge “–but you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro said.  “But technically, I said I might if you asked nicely, and you didn’t ask.”

The mermaid’s mouth opened–a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue–but it snapped shut without uttering a word.  Lips pursing, he tipped his gaze to the countertop as his fingers fidgeted against the jar’s lip.  “But you always did it whether I asked or not,” he quietly said.

The soft pout of lips pulled at Shiro’s heartstrings the same way puppies and kittens did.  “What’s your name?”

The marimo raised its head and met Shiro’s gaze.  “Keith,” he said.

“Keith,” Shiro repeated, and the mermaid perked at hearing his own name.  “I’m sorry I forgot.  Do you want to spend some time in the fridge now?”

Keith nodded.  He pushed himself off the lip of the jar and dove back into the water.  Droplets splashed as his tail flicked upon the surface.  As he sunk lower, Keith curled into himself.  The flowing wisps of his tail wrapped around him, pulling tighter and tighter until it encircled him completely.  When he settled upon the sand, Keith was curled back into the little ball Shiro recognized.

Shiro carefully lifted the jar and carried it to the fridge.  He pushed condiments to the side and cleared space to set Keith’s jar.  He stared at Keith for a long moment–the marimo swaying gently in the water– before he closed the fridge door.

He needed to call his grandmother.

***

Keith liked movies.  Shiro found that out one Friday night while gorging on delivery pizza and watching a random action film that showed up on his Netflix recommendations.  It was an okay movie, he supposed.  The acting was a bit over the top, and the effects were kind of glitchy, but for a movie that relied on explosions and tense showdowns, it wasn’t too bad.  If anything, it had Shiro laughing every five minutes so he was enjoying it.

It was after the first big explosion that Shiro heard splashes of water from the kitchen.  He craned his neck to peer over the couch and spotted Keith propping himself on the jar’s lip, long flowy tail draping and gently flicking in the water.

“You wanna watch?” Shiro asked.

Keith enthusiastically nodded.  He slipped back into the water and swam in a tight circle.  His tail fanned out as it trailed after, each wisp swaying and gliding with the water.

As Shiro stood to retrieve the jar, Keith peeked his head above the water.  His eyes glistened and shined with the sheen of a protective film.  When he blinked up at Shiro, the film retracted.

Shiro brought Keith back to the couch and set the jar on the side table.  As soon as the water stilled, Keith hoisted himself out of it.  He perched on the lip of the jar, leaning forward as the sparks and fiery billows of another explosion lit up the television screen in bright yellows and oranges.

Shiro watched Keith’s reactions more than the film.  Each escaped puff of breath, every twinkle of an awed eye, each swish of a billowing tail.  Keith was enthralled by the sights and sounds of the screen, but Shiro’s fascination was in the mermaid.

***

“I want a bigger tank,” Keith said one day as soon as Shiro got home from work.

Shiro hummed.  “Yeah?”  He toed off his shoes and loosened his tie.  As he walked over to the kitchen counter, Keith lazily bobbed in the water.  “How big?”

“Big,” Keith said.  He sunk lower until only his eyes were above the water.  Slowly, he glided to the edge of the jar and reached to grab onto the lip.  He pulled himself up until he could peer over the glass at Shiro.  “You said to ask for anything I wanted,” he quietly said.

“I did.”  Shiro nodded, and he smiled.  “And what do you want to put in the tank?”

Keith pulled himself higher.  “Plants,” he said.  He slung his arms over the lip to hold himself up.  “But not the fake ones.  They’re not soft enough, and they smell funny.”

“Just plants?”

Keith thought for a moment, lips pursing.  “Maybe something to play with or climb on.”

“Okay,” Shiro said.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You won’t forget this time?”

Shiro’s fingers curled until only his pinky stuck out.  “I promise,” he said, offering his finger to Keith.

Keith stared for a long moment before he leaned forward.  He nuzzled his forehead against the pad of Shiro’s finger, and Shiro bit his lip to repress any uncanny sound that might escape him at the mermaid’s cuteness.

***

At the pet store, Shiro was informed that what he was looking for was enrichment.  He scratched his cheek and offered an awkward little laugh when the worker asked what kind of fish he had.  When he remembered how Keith’s tail billowed and swayed so beautifully in the water, he said he had a betta fish.  The worker smiled at him and began listing off betta safe plants as they led him through the aisles.

After Shiro purchased everything and looked over the receipt, he realized he might’ve accidentally spoiled Keith a bit too much.  It was more than the marimo asked for, but Shiro wanted to surprise him with a setup similar to what his grandmother had.  So even though he spent way more than anticipated, he walked into a hobby shop and bought even more for Keith’s new home.

***

Keith was waiting for him when he got home.  With a loud splash, the mermaid burst forth from the water and practically threw himself over the edge of the jar.  “Is that it?” he asked with a large, beaming smile.

“Sure is,” Shiro said.  He nudged the door closed with his foot before carrying the 10-gallon tank to the counter.  It was overflowing with plastic bags and wrapped plants.  “We’ve got some planting to do.”  Shiro smiled down at Keith as he pulled plants and bags from the tank.

Keith’s tail swished and flicked, sending droplets into the air and spraying the counter.

Shiro chuckled.  He pushed the tank into place in the middle of the counter.  “Let me get the substrate down and then you can help, okay?”

Keith nodded.  He clung to the lip of the jar as he bobbed up and down in the water.

Shiro followed the instructions of the pet store employee and laid down a layer of peat and then sand.  He put a small container lid atop the sand so he could fill a third of the tank with water without disturbing the substrate.  “Okay, Keith, time to decorate your home.”

Shiro held out his palm, and Keith didn’t hesitate to launch himself out of the water.  He landed in Shiro’s hand with a wet slide, nearly slipping off the other side, before Shiro caught him with a thumb.  “Easy there,” Shiro laughed.  He stroked Keith’s hair before lowering him to the water line in the tank.

Keith wiggled and writhed until he slid headfirst into the tank.  With a flick of his tail, water splashed Shiro’s hand.

Shiro stood for a long moment simply watching Keith’s body undulate and curl, water rippling outward with every forward propulsion.  His tail flowed like a flag in the breeze, every wisp feathering behind Keith like a veil.

Shiro gently tapped on the glass.  Keith’s head swiveled, and he surfaced.  “Here,” Shiro said as he lowered a hornwort plant to the water.  “We have to bury the roots in the substrate.  Think you can dig some holes?”

Keith dove back down.  Bubbles flowed out of his lips as he laughed, the sound lost to Shiro’s ears but the sight of crinkling eyes and dimpled cheeks was more than enough to compensate.

Keith settled into the sand and used both hands to scoop it away.  He heaved and pulled as Shiro lowered the plant into the water.  Keith reached up to grasp the stem and guide the roots into the substrate.  Carefully, Keith pushed the sand back into place and gently patted it down around the plant.

When he was done, Keith brushed his hands through the wisps of his tail.  Like an underwater dog, he shook and wiggled until the fine grains of sand fell away.  He looked up at Shiro through the tank’s glass.  With a beaming grin, he gave Shiro a thumbs up.

Together, they planted moss and a pair of ferns on one side of the tank.  For the other, Shiro had some plans.  But first, he filled the tank up the rest of the way.

“Close your eyes,” Shiro said.

Keith tipped his head to the side in question, but after a moment, he complied.

Shiro dug through the plastic bags.  As quickly as he could, he situated each little surprise in the tank.  The water gently rolled as it was displaced, and Shiro smiled to himself as Keith let each soft wave wash over him without peeking an eye open.  Finally, Shiro ripped open a pouch and carefully placed each little piece atop the water, praying they’d remain floating.

Shiro tapped the tank’s glass.  Keith’s lashes fluttered open.  He blinked, the film remaining over his eyes.  As his gaze trailed form the curve of Shiro’s lips to his home, Keith’s lips upturned to match.  Bubbles slipped freely from Keith’s smile as he darted in circles, swimming from one surprise to another.  He glided through the hoops and rings in a flurry of tail flicks and zipped into a rocky hide.

Keith’s head peeked out of the rocks.  His eyes crinkled as he smiled at Shiro.  Casually, he floated out of the hide and swam to the sunken wooden bench with painted ceramic vines and flowers wrapped around its frame.  He draped his body along its seat, letting his head loll over the edge.  With a twist of his torso, he pushed off the bench and swam to the biggest surprise of all.

A dark stone cottage with black shingles sat diagonally in the corner.  Its door was left ajar, and the red window shutters were wide open.  Keith floated beside the door before pulling it further open.  He disappeared inside the cottage, but Shiro saw the algae wisps of his tail as Keith passed by the windows, swimming higher to the second story.  When Keith poked his head out of the chimney, Shiro puffed a snorted breath of laughter.

Head tilted back, Keith stared up.  Odd shadows cast through the water in waving streaks, and his gaze followed them to stars floating on the surface.  Golden and violet–pale like light–they drifted upon the water, clumping together in clusters and orbiting in circles around each other.  One slowly tipped on its side, hanging in the water before sinking below the surface.

Keith wiggled out of the chimney.  With an undulating roll of his tail, he darted to catch the falling star.  It glided into his arms, and Keith clutched it close to his chest.

He swam to the glass and righted himself.  His tail swished a little anxiously as his gaze flicked along the sand.  His fingers fiddled with the points of the star before he lifted his gaze to Shiro.

Keith pointed to himself as his mouth formed around a syllable.

_I_

His finger reached to the glass.  He drew two round curves whose paths met at the bottom.

_Heart_

Keith’s lips twitched as he gently smiled.  He looked up through thick lashes–a light dusting of color brightening his cheeks–as he pointed at Shiro.

_You_

Shiro’s lips parted with a quiet breath as they stretched into a tender smile.  He pressed the pad of his finger to the glass.  “I heart you, too, Keith.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading~
> 
> You can find me @ichibri on tumblr & twitter


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